


ineffable confession

by ineffableauthor



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 12:51:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19296121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffableauthor/pseuds/ineffableauthor
Summary: During one of their lovely drunken discussions, Aziraphale tends to customers and Crowley continues drinking. He wakes up in the bookshop with no recollection of the previous night, but soon finds out he said some interesting things to the angel.





	ineffable confession

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Good Omens/Ineffable Husbands fanfiction, and I hope you like it. ;)

Everyone makes mistakes. 

That is a fact of life. Nobody is perfect, and learning from mistakes is an important part of maturing and improving.

Which is why, Crowley supposed, Aziraphale was a bit of a moron, and why Aziraphale supposed the same about him.

The angel never made mistakes, so he never learned from them. He made decisions that always worked out and found ways out of unfavorable situations, usually with the demon's help. He may have appeared intelligent from an outsider’s standpoint, but Crowley knew that his white-feathered friend lacked the common sense he had in abundance. The demon made mistakes quite often, but never seemed to learn a lesson afterwards. He often relied on the angel for information and knowledge, and thrived in chaotic environments.

That is to say, they were about as codependent as can be, and this idea was made quite clear when Crowley ineffably confessed to Aziraphale.

\---

It was a fine, cloudy afternoon, one where the sky was painted dark bluish-grey with the promise of an afternoon shower. Crowley, speeding in his Bentley, was headed to Aziraphale’s Bookshop to tempt the angel to some light afternoon drinking and philosophical waxing. He turned the volume dial slightly right as Queen’s Greatest Hits continued on his stereo. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and quietly sang along. 

“Ooh, you make me live... Hmm hmm…” 

He pulled into his usual spot smoothly as the song came to an end and turned off the engine. Before exiting, he checked his reflection in the rearview mirror and popped a breath mint. Humming the catchy chorus of ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’, he sauntered to the door and pulled it open nonchalantly.

He wasn’t expecting to see his friend sitting on the floor surrounded by yellowed pages with utter sorrow in his eyes. Aziraphale looked up to Crowley and he gave him a half smile and a half-hearted, “Hello dear. Do come in,” before faltering back to a disdainful expression. 

Crowley obeyed and stood before the angel, peering around the shop to ensure they were alone. 

“What’s with the, er, deconstructed novel?”

Aziraphale sighed and raked his eyes over the pieces of paper with furrowed brows. “I was given a book by a frequent customer, but he said it required repairs to be in decent condition. I opened it up, and… The pages were nearly all falling off of the spine. It’s been so mistreated, the poor thing.” He reached out and tenderly grazed one of the more yellowed pages.

Crowley refused to identify what he felt towards the page as ‘jealously’, but he certainly thought it might be nice to feel a caress once in a while. “Couldn’t you just ‘magic’ it up and repair it?” 

The angel rolled his eyes and stood, bending down to pile the pages together. “Of course I can, but that doesn’t make it any less deserving of mourning. It’s a travesty, Crowley.” He set the stack down upon what Crowley assumed was the original binding and turned to his friend, who quickly pretended to be absorbed in the bookshelf to his left. “Well, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Crowley loved hearing that Aziraphale considered his visits a ‘pleasure’. He certainly considered them pleasurable - not in a creepy or invasive way, but in a ‘this is the only person who cares about me and I might care about him or whatever’ way. He glanced at the beaming bookkeep and shrugged. “I was hoping I might be able to tempt you to lunch, followed by some light hydration and conversation?”

“Oh, Crowley.” The angel’s eyes crinkled. “How could I resist?”

\---

Riding in the Bentley had never been Aziraphale’s favorite pasttime. He believed that driving the speed limit was safest for other drivers and himself, while Crowley preferred to ignore such ideas and instead go as fast as he could whilst avoiding collisions. On numerous occasions, the angel had suggested they walk, for the novelty of it and the safety, but Crowley waved away that notion, insisting that they should take the car just in case they decided to venture elsewhere.

On this particular afternoon, however, he found the car ride oddly relaxing. As Freddie Mercury’s voice emitted softly from the speakers, Crowley rested his arm ever so lightly around Aziraphale’s headrest. He rather wished the headrest would disappear so he could lean against his friend’s arm alone - it would certainly be more comfortable for both of them - but he thought it may be an odd suggestion for Crowley to move, so he left it well enough alone.

As the sky had promised, a light sprinkling had begun. Pedestrians made their way to cover or vehicles as the rain picked up slightly, ebbing and flowing now and then. Aziraphale was reminded of the first storm and found himself recalling many of the times he and Crowley had met since then. He gave a sideways glance to the demon and noticed a soft smile upon his normally-stoic face. That was something he wouldn’t soon forget.

“... What? Have I got something on my face?” 

The angel chuckled and returned his gaze to the rainy skies. “Just a smile. It’s really rather dashing on you, you should wear it more often.”

If he had looked back at Crowley, Aziraphale would have noticed the smile grow just a bit before being forced down as a rosy tint covered his cheeks.

\---

“So you’re telling me this ‘sushi’ thing is your favorite food?”

Crowley loved finding out about Aziraphale’s passions. When he spoke about matters of great interest to him, he glowed with life and happiness so powerful that Crowley honestly would have stopped the apocalypse simply to see that energy radiating from the angel. He found himself absorbed in thoughts about Aziraphale’s hair and how soft it was - wonder what kind of product he uses - and his eyes and how they gleamed, and his smile, and failed to realize that Aziraphale had asked him a question.

“... Crowley?”

“Hm? Yes, angel?” Crowley pretended he had been studying the menu, which Aziraphale knew was false but he decided against questioning the demon; at this point in their friendship, it was better to not question some of his behaviors.

“What is your favorite food?” The angel, menu closed as he already knew what he would order, awaited Crowley’s response with excitement. The demon couldn’t help but notice how his friend’s eyes crinkled every time he was truly happy, and how often that happened when they were together.

He cleared his throat and gave up on navigating the menu, making eye contact with Aziraphale through his staple sunglasses. “I don’t really eat, so I don’t have a ‘favorite food’, I suppose.” He chuckled as Aziraphale went on a small tangent about how human cuisine was ‘quite extraordinary’ and how he ‘must try ramen; it’s surprisingly comforting’. His speech was cut short by a waitress approaching.

Aziraphale ordered before Crowley even had a chance to ask what the different sushi types meant. 

“I hope you like crab, egg, shrimp, and squid,” the angel said with an eyebrow waggle, and Crowley decided that sushi would be his favorite food from now on.

\---

Crowley did not like sushi. He didn’t like fish in general, but he didn’t dare tell that to his partner, who had been gleefully feasting upon piece after piece. He barely took time to speak between mouthfulls, and Crowley found himself searching for a conversation topic. 

“What would you think the ‘J’ stands for in my name, if you had to guess?”

Aziraphale’s eyes rested upon the demon’s face, mouth pulled into a puzzled pout. “I thought it didn’t stand for anything?”

“It doesn’t, but if it did, what would you assume it was?” Crowley took a sip of his sake and leaned back as the angel scanned him. He felt his cheeks heat as Aziraphale’s eyes locked onto his own through his dark lenses.

“...I think Jasmine is rather fitting,” the bookkeep answered, raising another piece of sushi to his mouth. His companion faltered, an eyebrow raising as he tried to determine whether that was intended as an insult or joke of some sort. A warm, sweet smile assured him that no harm was intended, so he simply guffawed and took another drink, quite enjoying the day thus far.

\---

He really ought to smile more.

That was the lone thought running through Aziraphale’s intoxicated head as he watched the demon happily pouring out another bottle of moscato. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he never officially closed the shop, but he never had much business anyways so he didn’t bother leaving the back room.

“So, we’ve been… acquainted for quite a while now, but I still don’t know your opinion on musicals. I have several favorites, perhaps we could go see a show sometime?”

The angel was taken aback by this suggestion; he didn’t think his slithery associate was a fan of such things. He took up his glass once more and swallowed the contents, extending the empty receptacle to Crowley. “Well, I’ve not been to a theatre in ages. It would be my delight to go out with you some night, but you would have to choose the show, as I don’t know any.” 

Crowley snorted. “‘Go out’ with me some night, hm? You make it sound like a date, angel.” He refilled Aziraphale’s glass and quietly sighed.

“It may as well be,” the drunk white-headed man admitted. “We’ve been doing these sort of things for quite some time. I can’t recall ever spending time with anyone else actually.” He looked to Crowley and saw a small frown upon his face. “I’m not complaining, dear! Time with you is always wonderful.”

“Oh,” Crowley muttered, struggling to find a response. “I’m - er - I always have a lovely time with you as well, and… I suppose I’m rather lucky to have someone like you to call my… friend.” He took a swig from the bottle and set it down on the table. There was something he had been meaning to say to his ally, but he had never found the right time or words. This was not the right time, and words failed him, but he was tired of wondering and wishing and hoping; he wanted to know if he had a chance.

“Listen, angel--”

“Crowley, did you hear that? I think someone is in the shop, hold on.” Aziraphale sobered up quickly and rushed to the storefront, leaving the demon with the unspoken confession on the tip of his tongue. He filled his glass to the brim and let himself become lost in the alcohol.

\---

Pancakes. 

Someone was making pancakes.

Crowley’s eyes flew open and he frantically looked about, realizing he wasn’t home. He was in Aziraphale’s back room still. Last night was foggy, and his head was pounding; he forgot to sober up.

“Oh, hello dear!” The angel in question entered the room with a tray of pancakes and a cup of what was likely hot cocoa, knowing his taste in drinks. “I made breakfast, and there’s your spare clothes,” he 

He forgot that he had left an outfit here in case of emergency, and he supposed this counted as one. 

“Ah, right. Thank you.” He sat up and took the tray with a thankful nod. “Tell me, angel, what exactly happened last night?”

Aziraphale’s face flushed and his smile became nervous. “Well, uhm, that is… You were quite intoxicated it seems. You said some interesting things.” He turned and headed to the door, intending to allow the demon to change, but he had a nagging feeling that he should explain a bit further.

“I-I think it’s rather funny, really.” He remained facing the door, fiddling with a button and biting his lip. “You told me that you loved me. Heh. Quite cute.” He took a deep breath and took hold of the doorknob. “Alright, well, I’m opening up shop. You can join me out front when you finish breakfast if you like, dear.”

With that, he left, gently but swiftly shutting the door, leaving a confused and flustered Crowley behind.

\---

Aziraphale took his place behind the counter with a sigh. Perhaps it had been a mistake to tell Crowley about the ‘l-word incident’, as he had decided to call it from then on. He hadn’t expected a particular response from the demon, nor had he stayed long enough to see his reaction, but he supposed Crowley might be distant for a few centuries or so.

He really didn’t want to spend centuries away from him again.

He tapped his fingers anxiously against the wood and glanced about the shop, looking for a distraction. His eyes landed on a pile of pages upon a deteriorating cover and he set his mind to focusing on this new task.

\---

Anthony J. Crowley was having some trouble leaving the room. He wasn’t particularly attached to anything within, but he was unsure of how to face what was beyond: the angel he accidentally confessed to the night before. He had planned to explain his feelings while sober, and he had no memory of his exact wording or actions. He had a frightening thought; what if he had tried to kiss him?

He definitely wanted to eventually, but not while pissed out of his mind.

He paced for what he supposed was the billionth time around the small space between the door and the couch and chewed on his fingernails, trying to develop a plan. How could he find out more about the nights events and Aziraphale’s feelings about it all? He seemed uncomfortable when he spoke about it… but maybe, a quiet, hopeful voice in Crowley’s head suggested, the angel feels the same and assumed it was the alcohol talking last night.

It wasn’t the alcohol, and no matter his response, Aziraphale needed to and deserved to know Crowley’s true feelings. He had been waiting thousands of years to tell the angel, and now was as good a time as any.

He made up his mind, opened the door, marched into the main room of the bookshop, and found himself alone. His bookkeeper had vanished.

\---

Finally, at the fifth store he checked, Aziraphale found the correct glue he needed to fix the binding of the damaged book. He speed-walked back to the shop, bag in hand, hoping nobody had been waiting for him within. 

The walk took nearly fifteen minutes.

He returned to find Crowley holding a repaired and revived copy of the novel he bought the glue for. His eyes were locked on the page, scanning each word with interest. He barely noticed the angel enter the shop.

“Oh, hello angel.” He didn’t lift his eyes from the page. “Where did you go? By the way, I sold three books for you.”

Aziraphale set the bag on the counter and peered over the demon’s shoulder, seeing he was already on page fifty-eight. “I-I went to get materials to fix… How did you fix it?”

Crowley, having finished the page, put a scrap of paper from the table as a bookmark and closed the novel, setting it down. “I just miracle-d it. Figured you might appreciate the help, but,” he pointed to the glue, “I suppose that was unnecessary.” He scratched the back of his head and pursed his lips, debating if he should bring up the elephant in the room or leave it all unsaid.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began, hands clasped and sweat beading on his forehead. “Could we… discuss last night?” He nervously raised his eyes to meet the sunglasses of his dear friend, whose eyebrows raised slightly.

“Of-of course we can.” He felt his heart pounding and he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’ve drawn a blank on the exact events though. Would you fill me in?” 

The angel nodded and headed to the back room, and Crowley followed closely behind, unaware of the pink tint spreading across the bookkeep’s face. He allowed the demon to enter first and closed the door behind them softly. 

“... Where shall I begin?” Aziraphale leaned against the wall, searching for a good starting point. “... Well, when I returned from tending to the customers, you were quite intoxicated. You were laughing, but when I entered, you began crying and you hugged me.” He looked up from the floor to Crowley sitting on the couch, awaiting his reaction. “I, ehm, asked you what was the matter, and you began telling me about how you are afraid of feeling and of--”

“--Of telling you how I feel. Right?” The demon rose to his feet, facing the ground. He removed his sunglasses, massaging his nose bridge. “I told you while telling you about how scared I was to tell you. Classic Crowley, eh?” He snickered and shook his head. Then he took a half-empty bottle of wine from the table, took a swig, set it back down, inhaled sharply, and raised his gaze to the angel’s. “... How did you feel about what I told you?”

He caught Aziraphale off-guard. ‘’We-Well, I suppose… That is to say… I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that I…” He floundered for a reasonable and clear response. His palms were sweating and his heart raced, and he stared at the man before him who was supposed to have been his adversary, but was actually quite the opposite. He stepped forward and took Crowley’s hands in his own. “My dear, I have long held affections for you and I do hope you weren’t joking last night, because I think it would be delightful to perhaps spend eternity with you and have you by my side, as my love.” 

Crowley’s eyes looked deep into Aziraphale’s, as if ensuring that he were being honest and sincere. He had no doubt that his angel was, but he couldn’t help to assume this was some cruel trick that was fated to injure him. “... You’re not joking, are you?”

The angel shook his head and let go of the demon’s surprisingly soft hands with a laugh. “It is rather foolish, isn’t it? To think we could be together, as if we haven’t already defied our roles enough.” His eyes fell to the ground and he knew his face was reddening, so he attempted to turn away, but Crowley’s hand cupped his cheek and turned it back towards him.

“Angel. I… care about you. That thing I said last night wasn’t a lie. I do, I just didn’t plan on telling you. I didn’t think you could ever… y’know.” He let go of Aziraphale’s face and stepped back, clearing his throat. He was blushing. “So… what are we to do now?”

Aziraphale stepped forward. “You do what?”

“Hm?” Crowley stepped back again, aware of how close he was to the couch now. “What do you mean?” His blush was intensifying and he felt his pulse quicken.

“You said ‘the thing’ last night wasn’t a lie, and you ‘do’. You do what?” He stepped forward just a little bit more, pink-cheeked and feeling a jolt of courage.

Crowley stepped back one last time, his ankles against the sofa. He peered down at the slightly-shorter, sly angel before him. “What are you--?!” He fell backwards onto the couch as Aziraphale moved closer, flush against him and took his hands, pulling him down onto him.

“If you say it, so will I,” the bookkeep promised, laying comfortably on Crowley’s chest. Crowley glared, face extremely red.

“... Get off.” He tried to push Aziraphale off, but the angel refused to budge. He transformed into a serpent in an attempt to slither away, but Aziraphale caught him and held him gently.

“My dear,” he whispered, booping the danger noodle, “I love you.”

Crowley slithered onto the floor and returned to his humanlike form. He bent down to the angel lying on the couch and pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s. “I… love you too.”

They smiled, and Aziraphale pressed his lips to Crowley’s.


End file.
